


give it to the person you love

by Joana789



Category: SKAM (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Feelings, Fluff, Future Fic, Insight, Isak's POV, M/M, Mentions of Isak's Past, Parallel Universes, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-21
Updated: 2017-07-21
Packaged: 2018-12-05 03:39:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,075
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11569518
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joana789/pseuds/Joana789
Summary: Sometimes Isak thinks Even’s laugh is brighter than the sun.





	give it to the person you love

**Author's Note:**

> I am sorry for this, I was just thinking about Isak a lot and this happened.

 

(It’s when they lie in bed one night when Even asks, sounding half-asleep already, ”If you could go anywhere right now, where would you go?”

It gets Isak thinking.)

  
———

   
There’s a lot of things Isak is grateful for in his life.

It hasn’t always been this way. There was a time he would rather not remember, if he could choose. A time he would bury somewhere deep, where no one could see, even Isak himself. It was all a lot harder back then, he thinks. Life. Going to school, or smiling at strangers, looking at his parents, talking to his friends.

Like his body wasn’t his is how it felt, Isak thinks sometimes. Like it was somebody else’s. And it was Isak who was going to parties and smoking weed with the boys, but then people switched, one was walking out, the other was coming in. Like actors when the scene changed. That’s what it was.

And it was hard, to control that — those people switching places, who Isak was around his friends, who he was around strangers, who he was on his own.

The one thing Isak is the most grateful for is that it’s not this way anymore.

   
———

  
Isak is not a dreamer, not really, not ever — even when he sleeps, even when he’s awake. He doesn’t have any specific goals for the future, or plans, or aims. Graduating from a university would be good, he guesses. Finding a job interesting enough, maybe, or moving into a bigger apartment with Even one day. That’s all there is. He doesn’t need much.

For a long time, he was doing everything he could to make the world around work the way he wanted it to work, but it was tiring, he sees it now. It was too much — controlling what people thought of him, what they did and what they felt; what _he_ felt. Isak wants to let the world just happen to him, now. Now, he’ll take what he can get.

Even says it’s sad, just a little, but Isak doesn’t think it is. It’s simple — he is not a dreamer, he’s a scientist. It just works a little differently for him.

”No, it doesn’t,” Even tells him when Isak says that, then turns a little to look at him over a textbook he’s pretending to be reading, sprawled on their bed just centimeters away. ”You can be a dreamer _and_ a scientist, Isak.”

”Well, I’m not,” Isak scoffs, then adds, ”Sorry not everyone has a bucket list of what they want to do before they get old, like you do.”

Because Even really does have one, and it’s ridiculous, full of impossible things, like _”Go to New Zealand”_ or _”Meet Baz Luhrmann”_ or _”Win an Oscar”_. He let Isak read it, once, and Isak guesses it was a sign of another barrier between them breaking, falling down — getting to know a little bit more of Even, a side of him that Isak hasn’t really seen before. The list is written on crumpled paper, hidden in Even’s bedside drawer, like something private, secure, and it’s so long it takes up four full pages in Even’s small handwriting.

(And there are also different things on it, things like _"Be happy"_ or _"Get married to the person I love_ " or _"Accept who I am_ ", and those aren’t ridiculous at all, Isak thinks.)

”It’s a good thing to have dreams,” Even tells him, and something in his expression softens, settles. ”That’s why I have you now, you know.”

Isak looks at him for a long moment and Even looks back. ”I am not something you made up.”

”No,” comes the response. For a second, Even looks like he wants to say something more, but then he doesn’t. He lets a grin spread over his face instead, slowly. ”If I’d dreamt you, you wouldn't be so _short_ , and I wouldn't have to always lean down to _kiss_ you—”

”I’m not short!” Isak exclaims then because this is _bullshit_ , hits Even with a pillow just for good measure, and Even throws his head back and laughs.

Sometimes Isak thinks Even’s laugh is brighter than the sun.

   
———

   
(It’s a reminder of who he used to be, this mindset, he thinks from time to time, and keeps the idea close. A vestige of the old him. It was easier, not to dream back then, when he kept telling himself it didn’t fit into his nature anyway. Not to dream of change, of improvement, of relief. Isak kept it locked in for a long, long time, until it settled into his bones like a habit. Whatever worked.

And if he found a way around it, even if involuntarily, then well — nobody really had to know, back then.)

   
———

   
The closest he's ever come to dreaming is thinking about parallel universes. And it’s similar, maybe even similar enough, even if it isn’t the same thing.

   
———

  
He wonders what it’s like, out there somewhere. In a world where he makes other choices, better choices, braver ones, ones he does not regret later, ones he is never ashamed to talk about, choices that don’t make him feel smaller than he really is.

Maybe there’s a universe in which his dad never leaves, or one where he still does, but where Isak stays with his mom like he should because there, he is strong enough. Maybe there’s a universe in which he never breaks Jonas and Eva up, where he does not take away the time they have together, where he lets them be. Where he doesn’t have a crush on Jonas in the first place, doesn’t push him away whenever he gets scared, doesn’t push anyone away. Where, when he meets Even, Isak acts better, is more responsible, thinks about his actions and the things he says.

Isak is how he is because that’s his universe and his place, but somewhere, he thinks, maybe he’s better than just this.

 

———

  
Even still draws him things — little comics, or funny scenes he comes up with; he sketches the people he meets or the views he sees, the things he feels; little, short conversations sketched on paper, swirls of color, random quotes, all kinds of things. Isak finds them tucked into the pocket of his jeans, or between the pages of his textbooks, under his pillow, on the kitchen table when he gets up and Even is out of the apartment already.

He saves every single drawing, no matter how small.

Isak wonders what he would do if he had a talent. If he could draw like Even, or sing like Jonas, or if he could write or play the piano or whatever else there is. He’s good at biology, sure, but that’s not a talent, that’s something else.

He wonders what it’s like to create something. To put your mind out there, show your thoughts to the world, define them into shapes, things. He wonders what he would create, if he could.

   
———

  
He and Jonas sometimes played a game when they were younger, two or three or four years ago, where they asked each other questions. Different things, random, and they rarely even made sense, but still. It was something they did until things got too heavy, until Isak started to distance himself, little by little, hoping that Jonas won’t notice.

He kind of kept forgetting, back then, just how similar he and Jonas were on some level. How Jonas always knew more about things than he let on.

”If you could have a superpower, what would it be?” Jonas asked him once, and Isak remembers that it was one of the last ones of those.

He said, back then, looking down at the ground, at nothing in particular, ”Going back in time.”

 _To fix things_ is what he didn’t say, because he was already losing his parents and often having trouble falling asleep and had to keep fighting the mess of doubts in his own head every day. _To change things. To make things better._

And Jonas looked at him like he knew, because he probably did, and maybe he even wanted to say something, say _I know what you mean_ or _I wish I could help_ or _If you ever need anything_ , but in the end, he didn’t say any of those things. He just muttered, ”Cool,” instead, and smiled at him, let him have the last slice of pizza.

Isak loved him for this.

   
———

   
Even is the most real person Isak knows. He is vibrant and vivid, and sometimes, when Isak looks at him, he feels like there’s almost too much of him — like he’s too bright, too good for the world around. It’s like it will all spill out, one day, if Even’s not careful enough. All the love, and the understanding, the laughter he shares so freely and the sadness he keeps tucked away, hidden.

And it sounds kind of sappy — like a line from one of those stupid romantic movies Even likes so much — but that’s how Isak sees it. That’s how it is, to him.

Isak is not like that. He saves his laughter and smiles for the people who are close to him, and carefully chooses the people who really matter, and he learns to apologize and to trust and to listen and to show who he is now, and who he’s not. It’s difficult, but he breathes through his days, one moment after another, and it goes.

He’s proud of that.

And Isak wonders — if he could go back in time and fix the mistakes he’d made, or if he could switch universes just for a moment, trade his world for some other, better one, a world with less pain and confusion and bitterness in it — he wonders if he’d still make it to the point he’s at now.

To his tiny little apartment, to his rebuilt friendship with Eva, to the boys, to reaching out to his parents again, to facing the future with his head held high, to loving a boy, to loving Even.

   
———

   
Isak knows things, now. Things he didn’t really understand before, or never really got to have, and those are all small matters, but maybe that’s why they count the most. It took him a while to realize that.

He knows what it’s like to come home to someone who’s already waiting, what it’s like to kiss someone good morning and good night and then good morning again. To let people in, for real, without pretending for once. Isak is getting better at that.

Even says _I love you_ whenever he can — when he serves Isak breakfast, when he leaves to go to work in the morning and when he comes back home later, when they’re out doing grocery shopping, when they’re in bed. And the words always sound fresh, and sort of fragile, and it’s weird — how they never feel like too much. How they’re always so raw.

”You can never say it enough,” Even tells him once, when Isak mentions it in passing, vaguely, pretending it's less important than it feels. ”That you love someone. There’s always something new to the words, I think.”

And yeah — Isak is starting to understand that now.

   
———

   
Isak is not a dreamer but that’s fine, he guesses. And he’s not an artist, but that’s okay, too. His universe is a little fucked up, and sometimes he hates it, but sometimes he loves it, and maybe that’s a rule behind it, he thinks. Maybe that’s the only rule behind all the universes, every single one. If he had to find a constant, he’d like it to be this.

He rips a sheet of paper out of one of his notebooks one day, and looks at it briefly, thinks about the list hidden in Even’s drawer, about the things on it, about his plans and his dreams and his reality.

On his own list, Isak writes down one thing, for now.

It’s _”Live”_.

   
———

  
(It gets Isak thinking, but then he turns to face Even properly, looks at him in the half-dark, brushes his fingers through Even’s hair.

”I wouldn’t go anywhere,” he says, and it’s the truth. It sounds a little like a secret he only now has decided to share. ”I would stay right here.”

Even blinks at him sleepily and then smiles, takes Isak’s hand in his, presses it to his lips.

”I would, too,” he tells him.

Isak thinks that this is what matters, ultimately.)

 

**Author's Note:**

> come talk to me on [tumblr!](http://sanasbakkcush.tumblr.com)


End file.
